The branches of the Zenith clawed at the twilight sky, a monument to a world.

Arkham
Shyrnova lay at its withered roots, his body a broken testament to a failed quest.

Millennia passed. The ashes of Arkham’s failure settled, a bitter reminder of a hope lost. The
Void tightened its grip, it's silent hunger consuming the remnants of the Aether’s song. The
Celestial Equilibrium, once a bastion of harmony, fractured, its twelve guardians scattered.

Yet, a spark remained. A flicker of light and hope, passed down through generations, carried
by the few who still dared to dream. They called themselves the Keepers, guardians of the
forgotten history, inheritors of a prophecy they barely understood.

In the ruins of Aethelgard, a city once bathed in the Zenith’s light, a young woman named
Lyra 15 year old girl sifted through the remnants of Arkham’s abandoned library. Light from
the ceiling shone on dusty scrolls with faded writing. Her fingers, delicate yet stained with the
grime of forgotten knowledge, traced the cryptic symbols, seeking a clue, a thread for hope.

She knew the stories, the legends of Arkham’s failed quest, the whispers of the prophecy,
the looming threat of the Void. But she also knew the Keepers’ creed: “The embers of hope
must never be extinguished.”

Near her, a young boy, no older than ten, sat huddled amongst a pile of ancient texts. Liam,
the son of a Keeper, his eyes wide and bright with a wisdom beyond his years, watched Lyra
with an intensity that made her uneasy. He'd been strangely quiet, his gaze fixed on the
fading light that filtered through the ruined windows.

"Do you think he'll come?" Liam asked, his voice a hushed whisper, breaking the silence.

"Who, Liam?" Lyra asked, her attention still on the scrolls.

"The one in the prophecy," he said, his gaze fixed on the sky. "The child of the Aether."

Lyra sighed, a weary sound. "The prophecy is ancient, Liam. We don't even know if it's true."

"But what if it is?" his eyes shining with an almost unsettling fervor. "What if he's already
here?"

Before Lyra could respond, a tremor shook the ruins, sending a cascade of dust and debris
raining down. A harsh growl echoed through the crumbling corridors. The shadows moved,
coming into forms that were both familiar and terrifying. The Void’s hunters had found them.

Lyra’s hand tightened around a worn leather satchel, containing a necklace passed down
through generations. She was not Arkham. She was not a hero. But she was a Keeper. And
she would not let the embers die.

"Liam, stay here," she said, her voice sharp. "Hide."

"But—"
"No arguments," drawing a slender blade from her belt. "They want the map. I won't let them
have it."

As she turned to face the encroaching darkness, Liam’s gaze lingered on the fading light, a
silent question hanging in the air.

The Rider's blade, a sliver of obsidian darkness, sliced through the air, narrowly missing
Lyra's shoulder. She rolled, the rough stone of the floor scraping her skin, and sprang her
feet. The ruins of Aethelgard, once a monument to Zenith's glory, had become a death trap.

"Liam, find a way out!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the crumbling corridors.
"Now!"

The boy, his eyes wide with a fear he tried to mask with determination. Lyra had seen him
studying the ruins, his gaze lingering on the strange angles and hidden alcoves, as if he saw
something she didn't.

She parried another strike, the Rider's form a blur of shadows in the fading light. The air
crackled with the unnatural energy of the Void, a chilling reminder of the trespassing
darkness. She was fast, skilled, but the Rider was relentless, its movements was inhumanly
swift.

A section of the ceiling groaned, ready to collapse. Lyra used the distraction to her
advantage, kicking a loose stone into the Rider's face, momentarily blinding it. She sprinted
towards the way where Liam had disappeared, the Rider's enraged howl echoing behind her.

"This way!" Liam's voice, surprisingly strong, echoed from the darkness beyond the
entrance.

He stood beside a narrow passage, hidden behind a crumbling wall. "I saw a way out, a
tunnel. It's old, but it might lead us somewhere."

Lyra hesitated. The tunnel was dark, unknown, but the Rider was closing in. She had no
choice. She followed Liam into the darkness, the passage twisting and turning like a
serpent's coil.

The air grew thick and stale, the silence broken only by the drip of water and the echo of
their footsteps. Liam moved with a surprising confidence, his hand tracing the rough walls,
as if he knew this place.

"How do you know this place?" Lyra asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

"I read about it," Liam replied. "In Arkham's notes. He said that there were hidden passages,
escape routes, built by the Keepers of the old."
Arkham's notes. Lyra had been too focused on the map to delve into the scholar's writings.
Liam, on the other hand, seemed to have absorbed every word.

The tunnel opened into a large chamber, the ceiling marked with cracks, allowing slivers of
twilight to filter through. In the center of the chamber stood a stone pedestal, upon which
rested a small, crystal object. It pulsed with a faint, warm light, a stark contrast to the
invading darkness.

"What is that?" Liam asked, his voice filled with awe.

Lyra approached the pedestal, her hand reaching out to touch the crystal. As her fingers
brushed against its surface, a wave of energy surged through her, a rush of warmth and light
that banished the chill of the Void.

A voice, ancient and resonant, echoed in her mind. Seek the heart of the mountain, where
the echoes of the Zenith still linger.

The crystal pulsed again, and a holographic image flickered into existence, a map of a
mountain range, its peaks shrouded in mist.

"It's a map," Liam whispered. "To the next Starlight Weapon."

Before Lyra could react, a harsh growl echoed from the tunnel behind them. The Rider had
found them. They were trapped, caught between the darkness and the promise of light.

The Rider’s growl, a guttural rasp that seemed to claw at the air, echoed through the
chamber. It's form, a shifting silhouette of obsidian and shadow, filled the passage, blocking
their escape. Lyra’s grip tightened on her blade, the faint glow of its edge a fragile beacon
against the approaching darkness.

“Liam, stay behind me,” she commanded.

The boy, his eyes wide but resolute, nodded. He stepped back, his gaze was fixed on the
Rider, a strange intensity in his expression. Lyra could feel a faint thrumming in the air, a
delicate vibration that seemed to emanate from Liam.

The Rider lunged, its obsidian blade a blur of darkness. Lyra parried, the impact sending a
jolt through her arms. She could feel the unnatural cold radiating from the Rider, a chilling
reminder of the Void’s corrupting influence.

As they clashed, Lyra noticed a strange phenomenon. The Rider's movements were erratic,
as if it were fighting against an unseen force. Liam’s eyes glowed with an ethereal light, and
the thrumming in the air intensified.

“It’s…it’s reacting to him,” Lyra realized, her voice barely a whisper. “The Aether…it’s
repelling it.”
Liam, his hands outstretched, seemed to be channeling the energy of the Aether so Well.
The water in the pool on the side of the pedestal where the crystalline object is pulsed with a
soft, warm light, and the Rider’s form flickered, it's shadow recoiling from the boy’s presence.

“I…I can feel it,” Liam said, his voice is strained. “The Aether…it’s like a song. And the
Rider…it can’t hear it.”

Lyra saw an opportunity. She feinted, drawing the Rider’s attention, then lunged towards the
pool. She plunged her blade into the water, the ethereal light flaring as the Aether’s energy
began to surged through the metal.

The Rider recoiled, its form twisting in pain. A wave of pure energy erupted from the pool,
pushing the creature back with a force that sent it crashing against the stone wall.

“Now, Liam!” Lyra shouted, her voice echoing through the chamber. “The passage!”

They sprinted towards the exit, the Rider’s enraged growls echoing behind them. The
passage was narrow, a winding tunnel that led deeper into the ruins. Liam, his eyes still
glowing with the Aether’s light, led the way, his movements guided by an unseen sense.

“It’s…it’s fading,” he said, his voice breathless. “The Aether’s energy…it won’t last.”

They emerged into a larger chamber, a vast cavern filled with crumbling pillars and fractured
archways. In the center of the cavern, a massive fissure yawned open, its depths shrouded
in darkness.

“The chasm,” Lyra said, her voice filled with dread. “The map…it leads across.”

The holographic map, still etched in her mind, showed a narrow bridge spanning the chasm,
a precarious path through the darkness. But the Rider was close, its growls echoing through
the passage behind them.

"We have to cross," Lyra stated. "The said starlight weapon is on the other side."

Liam looked at the darkness, then at Lyra. "We can do this."

They stood at the edge of the chasm, the darkness stretching before them like an abyss.
The Rider’s growls echoed closer, a chilling reminder of the danger that pursued them. The
echoes of the Aether, faint but persistent, resonated within them, a fragile beacon of hope in
the approaching darkness.